


Some People Pray for Miracles

by faege



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faege/pseuds/faege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I want a world, plain and simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some People Pray for Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Dean's post-apocalypse thoughts.

I want a world, plain and simple. I want it still turning when we’re gone, the Impala’s tire marks crisscrossing every back road and highway in this country. I want engine grease under my fingernails, the smell of gun oil on my shirt, a bag of rock salt in the trunk because some things in this world don’t know when they’re licked and that’s alright with me. I can fix that.

I want the smell of pine in the air, the sun warming my back, graveyard dirt crusting my shovel, a cold beer in my hand. I want the days full of everything and anywhere, all it takes is a nod and a grin and we’re off, someplace new, taking home with me wherever I go.

I want a world with Sam by my side—huge little brother, tripping over his clodhopper feet and ducking in doorways, hands jammed in his pockets like he’s always looking for something. I want him drooling on his pillow at night and sleeping late so I can hit him with a pillow to wake him up. I want him laughing hysterically with something gross and green in his teeth, only to rag on me later for not telling him. I want him to steal all the hot water in the mornings and then spend ten minutes on his stupid hair. I want to call him _geekboy_ and be proud over all the stuff he knows. I want to watch his face get soft when he sees kids, see his eyes grow solemn when he glimpses long blond hair. I want to see the dangerous way he moves when we’re hunting something and hear the growl of his voice when he thinks he’s protecting me _(it’s the other way around, little brother)_.

I want a world full of air and asphalt, where we can hunt the evil and not be shunned because of it. I want _I’m not going anywhere_ and _What do you say to the Grand Canyon_ and _If I have any more pie, I’m going to puke, but it was the best, wasn’t it_. I want to be gripped as hard as I’m gripping and know that we’re doing it—whatever it is—because we want to, not because we have to. Because we choose to.

 _Dean, would you just get in already? If you don’t hurry up, I’m driving, and you’re not going to like the way I take the turns with ice cream in one hand and the lives of you and your baby in the other. Gosh, man, I’m kidding, the Impala’s fine! And—hey, that’s **my** ice cream, Dean! Jerk._

Thanks, God. Amen.  



End file.
